Give Up
by allthegirlsarebummers
Summary: Based totally and completely around the lyrics from The Postal Service's album "Give Up." 10-part future!Klaine. Angst, smut, fluff, and a definite happy ending. Hope you all like this.
1. The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

**The District Sleeps Alone Tonight**

After everything, they ended up at different schools in different cities on different coasts. They had agreed college was too important to squander over a high school romance and applied to schools quietly, secretly from each other, then when they had reviewed their acceptance letters and made their decision they came together again and swapped names.

Until that moment, Kurt had expected Blaine would apply exclusively to schools in New York City—Blaine knew that was the only place Kurt would consider living. When Blaine said "UC-Berkeley" to him that day it was a slap in the face, a wake-up call. Blaine wasn't following him to New York City.

"NYU," Kurt whispered back.

The tears over this decision were years in the past now.

Blaine carved out his life in Berkeley and loved it. As it happened, Mike Chang went to Berkeley too, and they were roommates their first year, then drifted apart a little and got separate apartments with different roommates after that. They still went out for drinks sometimes and were in the same circle of friends who played football on fall afternoons and went down to the beach to build a bonfire on summer nights. Blaine joined an all-men's acapella group on campus. He made friends. He purchased a toaster on sale. He bought a painting at an art fair and hung it on the wall over his desk. He found a favorite grocery store within walking distance of his apartment. He liked taking the BART into the city and going to the touristy places around San Francisco, buying a post card, and sending it to Kurt with a heartfelt but coded message written on the back. He fell into a routine, and it made him happy, mostly. But he missed Kurt.

Kurt dropped onto the NYU campus like a bomb and the shockwaves never stopped. He made friends with his dorm roommate in five minutes, and the rest of his dorm floor in the next ten. He flirted with everyone, but he refused advances and didn't allow drunken (or sober) blowjobs, even from his best friends. He went out almost every night and sauntered in every morning just before dusk, passing his classes by virtue of his staggering intelligence and immeasurable talent. He was a little bit drunk eighty percent of the time it was dark outside, but so were all the people around him. He embraced New York and it embraced him, sloppily, clumsily, but fiercely. Everyone loved Kurt and he loved everyone and he did anything he wanted in the city. Parties were a given and so was coffee every morning (paired, at least twice a week, with a phone call to Blaine in Berkeley). He leapt into this routine, though sometimes he missed the quieter pre-college life with his dad and Carole and Finn and Rachel and Blaine. But not often, not often enough to temper his enthusiasm.

It was the summer between junior and senior year of college and Blaine had just come back from a semester studying abroad in England. He had a job waiting for him in Berkeley, but he was allowed a week of freedom before they needed him back, and it was with sweaty palms Blaine landed in JFK to visit his boyfriend. Things had been …weird… with Kurt for a while. Blaine didn't suspect him of cheating and he knew Kurt would never suspect Blaine either, but they were distant with each other, less likely to blow off a day of class to hop on a cheap flight and spontaneously spend a long weekend in either one of their cities. They had talked more than ever when Blaine was in London. He had to top up his phone constantly, blowing twenty pence a minute calling Kurt, but the time difference was advantageous to Blaine: Kurt was more likely to pick up his phone during the day than at night, when he would invariably be out with friends. So Blaine thought that whatever strain there was on their relationship might have passed with all the across-the-pond chatting they had been doing.

He was still nervous. It didn't help that Kurt couldn't pick him up from the airport, was busy doing something or other he was unable to make an excuse to get out of and so Blaine had to take a taxi from JFK to Kurt's apartment in the East Village. As the streets flew past outside the taxi window, Blaine was reminded of how little he liked the endless concrete of the city. A tree here, a tree there—it wasn't anything like his gorgeous lush green Berkeley, rolling hills and constant flowers, the air smelling so sweet, as if just breathing it in improved the quality of the contents of his body. New York smelled and the towering buildings were oppressive. He had thought, before he visited, that he would love it as much as Kurt had. But it had stifled Blaine and made him feel so small. Berkeley made him feel like he was part of something vibrant and _living_. In New York he looked at the sidewalks and wondered what was buried underneath the asphalt: flowers trampled long ago against human greed.

The cab finally stopped outside Kurt's building. Blaine looked up once at the face of the apartment complex before he turned back and paid the driver. He felt a heaviness on him and in him and didn't know how to account for his feelings. This was Kurt's home. Blaine hadn't been to this particular apartment before; Kurt had moved here while he was in England and had entirely new roommates Blaine had never heard of before. He wondered if they even knew his name. He thought, fleetingly, perhaps he should wear a name tag so they would know who he was.

Blaine buzzed the apartment to be let in and someone buzzed him back without asking who he was. He went up the elevator to Kurt's apartment on the sixteenth floor. Blaine leaned back against the cool wall of the elevator, taking deep breaths and licking his lips, trying to calm the unsettled feeling in his chest. Kurt would be here soon too, if he wasn't already. Then everything would be all right.

The elevator doors opened. Blaine picked up his travel bag and walked out into the hallway. He looked at the numbers on the doors until he got to Kurt's apartment. He knocked and after a few seconds the door was opened by a small thin man with three piercings in one ear and a flock of seagulls haircut. Blaine stared at him openly before collecting himself and putting on his game face. He stuck out a hand and said, "Hi, I'm Blaine."

The man tilted his head to one side. "Do you live here?" he asked.

Blaine didn't quite know what to say but finally managed, "No—I'm visiting Kurt."

"Oh, Kurt! Love that guy. Come on then," the man said, and he stood back to let Blaine enter.

As Blaine expected, the apartment was gaudy and looked barely lived in. There were several varieties of liquors stacked elegantly on a ledge that ran across the top of the kitchen cabinets, and Blaine knew the pattern in the colors was Kurt's doing. It was the one thing that made him feel a little more grounded in what was otherwise an alien world to him. Blaine set his bag down next to the couch and sat. He looked at the man, who was pouring himself some orange juice from the refrigerator.

"Do you live here? Are you one of Kurt's roommates?"

"Huh?" The man looked up at Blaine, an eyebrow raised. "Do I—oh, no, I'm just visiting too."

Blaine hated him, immediately. Not for who he was but that he assumed he and Blaine were equals in the apartment. Blaine wanted to explain to this man that he and Kurt were boyfriends, had been for five years, were in love, were everything, were solid, were good, he belonged here more than anyone else deserved to, even Kurt's roommates—wildly, Blaine grew frantic inside his own mind but cringed at acknowledging he didn't belong here, really. This was not the place for him, not the speed he wanted to go at in his life, but it was for Kurt.

Tilting his head back onto the couch, Blaine closed his eyes to prevent tears from falling out of them. He was finally fully understanding the gap between him and Kurt, the bubble that was pushing them apart. Kurt was running at full speed without any destination in mind and loving it. Blaine had finished running, had never really been running in the first place—had finished his slow jaunt, then, toward what he wanted, and what he now had: his quiet apartment and peaceful life in Berkeley. He wanted Kurt in it, but they were at completely different trajectories. Kurt's life was exciting. Blaine's wasn't.

He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed at himself. Being melodramatic as usual. New York wasn't so bad, Blaine thought, looking out the window. And Kurt would be back soon. Maybe then things would be okay again.


	2. Such Great Heights

**Such Great Heights**

Blaine heard the key in the lock about a half hour later. He was calmer now. The guy with the flock of seagulls haircut had made him a gin and tonic and handed it to him without asking if he wanted one first. Blaine, despite himself, had taken it and downed it in a few minutes. The gin had had a slow mellowing effect on him and he found himself happy again, knowing he was about to see Kurt for the first time in almost half a year. He stood up to meet him.

The doorknob turned and the door pushed open and then there was Kurt. His brow was furrowed and his cheeks were a little flush. Blaine positively gaped at him: wearing low-rise ungodly-tight black-wash skinny jeans, hip bones jutting, his hair sprayed into shape but wrecked by wind, a tease of blond body hair showing in the middle on that strip of stomach Blaine could see beneath Kurt's too-small black V-neck … he looked like _sex_. Blaine blew out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding when Kurt glanced up and noticed him standing there.

There was just a second where Blaine felt himself entirely consumed by the dark lust in Kurt's eyes, and then Kurt crossed the room with long strides and his lips met Blaine's eagerly, heavily. He wrapped his hands around Blaine's waist, then his hips, then let them creep up Blaine's back to tug and play with Blaine's curls. Blaine let it happen, his entire body tingling, his head tilted back slightly from the pull of Kurt's fingers but also from the ever-present insistence of Kurt's mouth on his, before Kurt pushed Blaine a little until Blaine sat back on the couch. Kurt followed him down and straddled Blaine's lap, still kissing him but moving southeast to his jaw and then a little farther south to his neck. Blaine panted and grabbed at the back of Kurt's shirt desperately before thinking better of it and moving his hands down just a little to get under the fabric at the perfect smoothness of Kurt's back. He ran his hands up under Kurt's shirt and cupped over his shoulders, pulling him even harder down onto him. Kurt rolled his hips a little into Blaine's lap and Blaine gasped loudly, then moaned.

It was the clearing of a throat that stopped them. Kurt looked up, still with his bedroom eyes on, and Blaine turned his head to follow his gaze. Flock of seagulls haircut guy. Blaine wanted to throw him off the balcony.

"Oh, Kieran," Kurt said, not moving an inch from Blaine's lap. "When did you get here?"

Kieran looked a little hurt. Blaine cheered inwardly. "I've been here since before him," Kieran said, gesturing at Blaine with his gin and tonic.

"How'd you get in here?" Kurt asked a little testily. "Or did you never leave?"

Kieran laughed. "Never left. Claude had work this morning but he told me I could hang out."

Kurt frowned. "Not sure why Claude told you _that_." Blaine saw Kurt thinking of how rude that probably sounded before he added as a softener, "Did you meet Blaine?"

Blaine jumped in. "Yeah, he let me in."

"Oh, of course," said Kurt. He looked away from Kieran and back at Blaine. All of Blaine's frustration and worry ebbed away as he found himself lost in those sea blue eyes. He could see his own face reflected in Kurt's pupils and almost imagined if he looked hard and long enough he could see Kurt reflected back in the reflection of Blaine's eyes, and on and on, reflecting each other like two mirrors opposite each other. Time could melt away while Blaine stared into those eyes, staring at the little specks of green that Kurt had often said Blaine had too, in his hazel eyes. Blaine liked that the freckles of green between them were perfectly aligned. It was another clue to the puzzle he had been working at since birth: Kurt fit with him, fit into him. How he had ever doubted it, living thousands of miles away, he didn't know. What were a thousand miles when he had _these eyes_ to come to and stare into?

"I love you," Blaine breathed against Kurt's lips, oblivious to Kieran still standing somewhere behind him.

Kurt leaned forward a little and ran his lips lightly over Blaine's cheekbone, then kissed him gently at the corner of his face right beneath his ear. "I love you too," he breathed into Blaine's ear, and despite the very obvious shuffling of Kieran's feet behind them he felt himself getting harder.

Kurt felt it too. He bore down on Blaine's lap and glanced up at Kieran. "Kieran honey, are you just gonna just stand there while Blaine and I fuck? Because I haven't seen him in five fucking months and you don't even live here."

Kieran coughed out an awkward laugh. "Geez, sorry guys. Didn't think you even realized I was here anymore."

"Blaine does that to me," Kurt murmured, putting a hand up and rubbing his fingers along one of Blaine's eyebrows, then down his cheek and around the side of his face until he was cupping Blaine's face in his hand. Blaine felt a thrill run through his body at the slightly possessive way Kurt held his face.

"I missed you _so much_," Kurt whispered to Blaine, and then Kurt looked back at Kieran, glaring. "Seriously, Kieran. I specifically arranged for the apartment to be clear this afternoon, I don't know _what_ Claude was thinking telling you you could stick around."

"Fuck, Kurt," Kieran said. "Fine, fine. I'll leave."

"_Thanks,"_ Kurt said sarcastically.

His mouth was back on Blaine's before Kieran had even left. The slam of the apartment door was barely registered by either of them. Kurt's fingers pulled at Blaine's hair, his grip growing tighter as he pushed his body as close as possible against Blaine's. His hands ran down Blaine's neck and chest and pushed up under his shirt, snaking around Blaine's back, pulling him into Kurt. Blaine gasped at the feel of Kurt's hands on his bare skin. It had been too long.

Kurt wiggled a little trying to fit his body more completely against Blaine's, but then made an irritated noise when it was _not enough_. Blaine pulled at Kurt's hips and rocked up into him but Kurt was insatiable. He finally broke free from their kiss, breathing hard.

"Naked. Now."

Blaine glanced at the door a little nervously. "Anyone could walk in."

"Fucking Kieran," Kurt muttered, shaking his head. "I bribed _everyone_ to be out of the apartment all afternoon. Don't worry … we'll have plenty of time to ourselves."

Doubt vanished as Blaine looked up at Kurt's face. "God, you're gorgeous," he murmured, moving his hands from Kurt's hips to his ass. He slid his hands inside Kurt's jeans and rubbed the cheeks through the thin layer of Kurt's briefs.

Kurt moaned and grabbed Blaine's shirt, pushing back into Blaine's hands and then shakily moving his feet to the floor. He stood up and pulled Blaine with him, then without fuss pulled Blaine's shirt up off over his head. Blaine did the same, yanking Kurt's shirt off and ducking his head in to suck on Kurt's collarbone immediately. Kurt tilted his head back and moaned, blindly working at Blaine's pants, undoing the button and zipper and then shoving the pants and Blaine's boxers down in one movement.

Blaine's entire body tingled with the sudden air over him. The thrill of being naked in the middle of Kurt's living room just made him harder. He instinctively rutted forward against Kurt but groaned at feeling not soft skin but rough denim.

"_What are these even still doing on?"_ Blaine demanded, and in seconds he had undone the jeans and Kurt was shimmying out of them. Blaine grabbed Kurt's wrists and started sitting down onto the floor, his weight and grasp forcing Kurt down on top of him.

Kurt followed him readily, pulling his wrists out of Blaine's hands when they were on the floor and pushing their hands together, his elbows tucked against Blaine's elbows, and finally, _finally_ their bodies fit together like they were meant to: chest on chest, legs weaved together, hands holding hands, lips against lips, lined up together like puzzle pieces. Blaine whimpered and thrust up against Kurt, who simultaneously thrust down against him, and Blaine groaned at the overwhelming feeling of cock rubbing next to cock, pre-come slicking their stomachs and making their rutting easy, perfect.

Kurt let go of one of Blaine's hands and reached down their bodies. He shifted himself a little and then pulled one of Blaine's legs up, over his shoulder. Blaine immediately pulled his other leg up too and then moaned probably too loudly for an old East Village apartment with thin walls but fuck if he could keep it in when he realized what Kurt was doing. His hands went to Kurt's hair and stroked his head briefly as Kurt slid slowly down Blaine's body until his mouth hovered midway over the shaft of Blaine's cock. Blaine looked down frantically at Kurt. Their eyes locked and Kurt leered for a second before sticking his tongue out and running it all the way up Blaine's cock, from base to head, before swallowing as much of Blaine's cock as he could handle.

Blaine's mouth opened and shut but all he could make were strangled cries as Kurt sucked at him. He closed his eyes for a second and all he could see was bright white behind his eyelids, the pleasure so intense he couldn't think of anything else.

Then it stopped. "Wuh?" Blaine asked, tilting his head and looking back down at Kurt, who was sliding down even lower. Blaine only had a split second to process what was going to happen before Kurt's tongue was tracing circles around his hole. Blaine's body spasmed, his hips jerking upward. Kurt gripped Blaine's thighs and held him steady, then lapped his tongue flat over Blaine's entrance. Blaine spasmed again but his hips had nowhere to go with Kurt's strong hands viselike on them. Kurt licked over him again and again until Blaine's hands were simply clasping and unclasping at the air, his breathing coming in spurts, his entire body on fire.

There was a slight pause, then, and Blaine had a moment to collect himself as he felt Kurt sliding up again, kissing the head of his cock, then his abdomen, his chest, and up his neck to his face. And then, right as Kurt's lips met his own, he felt an inexplicably-lubed-up finger press against his hole before sliding in, and he bucked his hips wildly up into Kurt a few times. He felt Kurt giggle against his mouth before kissing him again, but Blaine was too gone to kiss back. When Kurt had gotten a bottle of lube and slicked up his fingers was beyond Blaine, but he didn't care to work out the timeline. Kurt twisted his finger inside Blaine, working in him to open him up, and all Blaine could do was rock down on the finger.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Blaine panted. "Kurt—"

"You don't know how many times I've thought about this," Kurt said against the side of Blaine's face, his voice low and dark. "Five months, five _fucking_ months without my fingers inside you, my cock inside you, kissing you like this, you don't know how hard it's been, Blaine."

Blaine cried out as Kurt pressed his finger even deeper inside, and then stammered back, "Fuck—fuck—Kurt—of course I—_ahhhh_—I fucking know, do you know how many times I fingered myself in London? _FUCK_."

Kurt pushed another finger inside Blaine and worked them in and out. Blaine pressed his head back up against the floor and his torso arched up, which pressed himself down onto Kurt's fingers. He collapsed then, unable to hold himself up, and just moved his hips, fucking himself against Kurt. Kurt licked a stripe from Blaine's collarbone up behind his ear and then nibbled against the lobe before whispering harshly, "Every night going out and getting dressed up for fucking _what_. For nothing because you weren't here. Every night coming home sexually frustrated thinking about you and jerking off, pretending my hand was yours, thinking of you stretched out around my fingers before I fuck you senseless. _Fuck_, Blaine."

Blaine just moaned, unable to formulate any sort of cogent response. The idea of Kurt going out and being looked at by other men bothered him but he pushed it into the back of his head because he was incapable of dealing with complex thought processes at the moment and—"_FUCK, KURT_," he cried when Kurt slid another finger into him, still keeping up their rhythm, fucking Blaine with his fingers. But it wasn't enough for either of them—they both of them knew it, both of them needed more, and when Kurt pushed a condom wrapper into one of Blaine's hands he ripped it open instantly and leaned up on his elbows, looking for Kurt's cock.

Kurt sat up, in the process pushing Blaine's legs even farther back, and he whimpered as Kurt pulled his fingers out of Blaine carefully before grabbing the bottle of lube. Blaine slid the condom on Kurt's cock and pumped him a few times with his sweat-slicked hands before Kurt coated his length in lube and then dribbled a little more down Blaine's crack. He leaned forward and kissed Blaine, then lined himself up and pushed slowly in.

Blaine fell back against the floor and spread his legs as wide as he could, the angle pulling Kurt inside deeper until he was buried to his balls in Blaine. Blaine panted, his head thrown back, his hands reaching for Kurt and himself at the same time, jerking himself off. He grabbed Kurt around the neck and pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. Kurt pulled out a little and then thrust back into Blaine completely. Blaine rocked his hips up into Kurt on every stroke. Kurt pounded into Blaine, and wrapped one of his hands around Blaine's hand on his cock, helping Blaine jerk himself off. After a few minutes, Kurt seemed to focus on the task at hand. He pulled out of Blaine about halfway and then started making shallow thrusts, angling his hips slightly until he found the spot he was looking for. Blaine cried out as Kurt hit his prostate. He couldn't jerk himself off anymore, his hand needing orders from his brain, but his brain completely short circuiting. Kurt hit him again and again in that spot, and batted away Blaine's hand, then picked up jerking him off again.

The intensity of being filled by Kurt and having Kurt's hand around his cock at the same time brought Blaine quickly up and the heat spiraled and pooled deep inside him before he was able to pant, "I'm c-coming—"

And then he was, spurts of white shooting up his chest as Kurt pumped him through his orgasm. Blaine opened his eyes and saw the triumphant look on Kurt's face before Kurt started deepening his thrusts into Blaine again, slamming into him. Blaine cried out on every thrust and knew he'd be hard again in a minute if Kurt didn't—

But then he felt Kurt's rhythm grow sporadic and stutter before he pushed deep inside Blaine and came, groaning low against Blaine's ear. Kurt stilled and then fell down onto Blaine's chest, both of them hissing a little as Kurt pulled his hips down and his softening cock slipped out of Blaine's ass. Kurt reached down and lazily pulled off the condom, not bothering to tie it before tossing it to the side.

Blaine wrapped an arm around Kurt's back and hummed happily at having his boyfriend back.

"Did you like all my voicemails?" Blaine whispered, voices seeming too loud in the sudden calm that had fallen over them.

Kurt chuckled and murmured, "Of course I did. I was missing you to death every day, seeing all those fucking couples out at the clubs."

Blaine hesitated a little at that, but then continued, "I thought about you all the time. Fuck. Every day. Every minute of every day. Thought about us in a little house in Berkeley, me in the garden, you making something complicated in the kitchen, the cats meowing at me from the windows—"

Kurt made a little noise and then outright laughed against Blaine. "What? Berkeley, the garden, the kitchen, the _cats_?"

Blaine was a little hurt. "It's just this—this image I have in my head of—being together with you in—"

Kurt hummed against Blaine's chest and his mouth was still curved into a grin. "Let's think about that again in a few years."

Blaine's chest felt like it was closing in on itself, his heart hurting a little at this response. "I just—I just want a future with you, Kurt, fuck—"

Kurt nodded. "Me too. But come down now, baby, let's just live today right now, mmk?"

They would have fallen asleep if the urgency of the afternoon fading away hadn't hit both of them. After another go-'round on the floor, Kurt looked at his phone and clucked at the hour, insisting they move their reunion into the bedroom now. Blaine didn't mind much—as long as he had Kurt against him, skin on skin, he could stop his brain from running that post-coital conversation over and over in worry that Kurt wasn't ready for the future Blaine wanted with him.


	3. Sleeping In

**Sleeping In**

"Where are we going?" Blaine asked Kurt.

"We're starting at Morpheus. Weird little club but they play great music and the drinks are top notch," Kurt answered briskly, pulling Blaine along by the hand.

They were at the back of a large group of Kurt's friends, everyone geared up for the night ahead, laughing and falling against each other a little, already tipsy from the pre-game margaritas Kurt had whipped up once all his roommates had come home.

Blaine felt a little giddy from the excitement. He hadn't been out properly in over a month, his schoolwork in London proving a little taxing at the end of the semester, and he hadn't been out _with Kurt_ in at least a year. Their stolen weekends together were usually filled completely with sex and soft discussion while they stayed in bed wrapped up in each other.

His hand firmly in Kurt's, they half-walked, half-ran four or five more blocks until they were outside the club. Kurt grinned widely and tugged Blaine's hand against him, forcing Blaine to fall against Kurt, who wrapped his arm around him and kissed him hard against the mouth before letting him go and sauntering into the club. A little dazed, Blaine followed, smiling to himself.

It was well past eleven and the club was already filled with half-naked, all-drunk attractive people. Blaine looked around and realized with a wave of jealousy that this was the type of place Kurt hung out at all the time, every night, surrounded by gorgeous men not blind or stupid enough to overlook a beautiful sexy guy like Blaine's boyfriend. He gulped but shook it off and accepted the drink one of Kurt's friends thrust at him.

"Kieran bought this round," Kurt said in Blaine's ear, his amusement dripping off every word.

"Did he?"

"Seems he misunderstood what Claude said and feels bad for _intruding_ on us earlier." Kurt shrugged lightly and downed half his drink, then took Blaine's hand and led him out to the dance floor.

Blaine took a few big sips so his drink wouldn't spill and then spun Kurt around with his free hand. He felt light. Usually, if he was sober, dancing next to Kurt made him feel like a clumsy oaf next to the most graceful ballet dancer. He remembered in high school how self-conscious Kurt used to be about his physical appearance, and how it only took Blaine a few months of absolute carnal devotion to Kurt's physique to make him realize how utterly, heartbreakingly stunning he was. Sometimes Blaine regretted it, terrified Kurt would take a look at him and ask himself what the fuck he was doing with this unfashionable weird-looking, gel-haired short guy when he could have the pick of New York City's (extensive) network of hot gay men totally gunning for Kurt.

But another few sips into his drink and Blaine wasn't worried so much anymore. He didn't drink much and they hadn't eaten a big dinner, so it wasn't taking a lot of alcohol to shift his perception from normal, worried, level-headed, to happy, eager, open. He stepped up close to Kurt and they danced together, their bodies tight against each other, sweaty and fitting perfectly. Blaine put his free hand heavily around Kurt's waist and fit one of his legs between Kurt's. He finished his drink and ground up against Kurt, who laughed and threw his arms around Blaine's neck. They danced like a heartbeat, pulsing to the music, blood pounding in their heads (and elsewhere), and they forgot to get the next round of drinks, so one of Kurt's other friends did. Blaine didn't tear his eyes off Kurt as some bright blue drink was thrust into his hand by one of Kurt's roommates.

Four hours later, five clubs later, and way too many drinks later, Blaine found himself tucked up again on Kurt on a sweltering dance floor. He was sweaty but so was Kurt.

They laughed at each other and Blaine felt sexy and powerful together with Kurt on the floor. He knew people were looking. He wondered how many of the men here had tried to pick up Kurt, been rebuffed, and wondered what lucky son of a bitch had beaten them to the punch.

_Me_. Blaine giggled and kissed Kurt sloppily on the side of his neck.

Kurt shouted at him over the music, "Havin' a good time?"

Blaine nodded against the heat of Kurt's skin and slid a hand up the back of Kurt's shirt to touch the soft silkiness of his bare lower back. Kurt jumped a little but fit himself even tighter against Blaine, barely pretending to be dancing.

"Let's go somewhere," Blaine said into Kurt's ear before nibbling the lobe lightly. Kurt shuddered and nodded quickly in agreement. Blaine took his hand and led him off the floor, around strangers and friends till he saw the sign for the bathroom. _That could work_, Blaine thought, and pulled Kurt with him in.

They were in luck. Three stalls but all of them empty. Blaine grabbed both of Kurt's wrists and pinned him against the closest wall. He pushed against him, grinding into him, and kissed him hard, recklessly, their tongues twisting in each other's mouths. Kurt jutted his hips out against Blaine and Blaine could feel his hard-on. He let go of one of Kurt's wrists and promptly slid his hand down the front of Kurt's jeans to wrap his fingers around Kurt's cock and pump a couple times. Kurt bucked against him and moaned, his head tilted back. Blaine kissed up against his throat and hummed when he felt Kurt's hand tangle into his hair.

There was a loud laugh that sounded like it was right outside the door. Blaine stilled for a second, then took his hand out of Kurt's pants and roughly moved both of them into one of the stalls, locking the door behind them. Kurt was laughing, low and dark, and Blaine didn't hesitate a second before kneeling in front of Kurt and undoing the buttons on Kurt's pants and tugging them down his thighs just above his knees. The briefs went next and then Blaine had Kurt's hard cock dangling in front of him. Kurt looked down at him and they locked eyes briefly. Blaine's mouth curved into a smile before he opened up and took Kurt in as deep as he could handle. Kurt's hands found his hair again and pulled, _hard_, as Blaine pulled off and then downed him again. He loved the taste of Kurt.

"_Fuck_," Kurt growled out as Blaine started humming around his cock. _"Fuck, Blaine_."

Blaine bobbed his head, taking Kurt in and out, but it wasn't enough. He let the head of Kurt's cock fall out of his mouth just long enough to say, "Fuck my face," before he got Kurt's cock back in his mouth, the head hitting the back of his throat.

Kurt obeyed Blaine's demand and started thrusting his hips forward, holding Blaine's head steady while he fucked in and out of his mouth, Blaine just keeping his lips as tight as he could get them around Kurt, swallowing constantly. Kurt moaned and pulled as far out as he dared before burying himself back in Blaine's mouth. Again, again, again, and then he was too close to do much more than thrust sporadically and quickly into the wet heat of Blaine's mouth. His fingers tightened in Blaine's hair and Blaine grabbed Kurt's ass with his hands, pulling him in—Kurt lost it and came down Blaine's throat, Blaine sliding off halfway to make swallowing easier. Kurt sighed sweetly and ran his fingers through Blaine's hair, the gel long since sweated out. Then he pulled his briefs and pants up himself before pulling Blaine up to stand in front of him. Kurt stuck his hand into Blaine's pants and cocked an eyebrow.

"You're close, aren't you?" he breathed into Blaine's ear.

"_Fuck, Kurt_. Yeah, yeah, yeah—_ahh_," he cut off as Kurt started pumping his hand up and down Blaine's cock in his pants. Blaine whimpered and thrust up into his hand just a few times before he was coming too, biting against Kurt's shoulder to keep from crying out. Kurt worked him through his orgasm, then removed his hand and pulled Blaine's face up, kissing him without breathing for half a minute before breaking off, gasping and giggling.

"How drunk are you?" Kurt asked him.

Blaine laughed. "Pretty drunk," he admitted.

"We'll go home soon," Kurt said. "Come on though, let's go find the others."

They stumbled out of the bathroom and went back out onto the dance floor. Blaine bought the next round for Kurt and all his friends.

An hour later, near dawn, and they were finally on their way back to Kurt's apartment. Blaine and Kurt had their arms around each other, trying not to fall over. The rest of the group was around them, though, and the momentum and proximity of bodies kept them from tripping.

Blaine barely remembered getting into Kurt's apartment, barely remembered stripping naked while Kurt did the same before they fell into bed together and didn't do much more than kiss once, chastely, before they were both of them passed out completely.

But he did remember his dream.

_It was November but somehow warm enough to swim. They were circling each other in the lake like sharks, but then lazily, like jellyfish, and finally they reached for each other and didn't let go. Then it was May and they were drinking wine on the fire escape of their Berkeley apartment, talking about politics, absently, not heatedly, and Blaine was reading the newest issue of _Entertainment Weekly_ and Kurt was in the middle of one of Thomas Paine's books and they were just being together, perfectly. Then it was June and hot and they watched the news together past midnight and fell asleep in front of the TV on the couch, a cat curled up next to Kurt's hip. Then it was five Novembers later and they were bringing home their son from the hospital and looking into each other's eyes, beaming, bright, gleaming, perfect—_

Blaine woke up with a start. It was bright in the room. He looked over at Kurt, who was still dead asleep. Then he leaned down from the bed to fish in his pants for his phone to check the time. Nine o'clock. Too early to be up after the night they'd had. Blaine groaned and fell back onto the pillow next to Kurt. He pushed a soft kiss into Kurt's collarbone and then fell asleep again.

—_and then they're putting waterwings on their son and watching him float around while they laugh and smile at each other because look at how beautiful he is and the phonograph is playing old Ella Fitzgerald records and everything is warm and soft and lovely and complete and Blaine's never been happier in his life—_

They finally woke up together later past noon. Blaine remembered every second of that entire dream and wondered if he should tell Kurt about it. But when Kurt groaned and wrapped his hands tight around Blaine, Blaine forgot about everything except the color of Kurt's eyes looking into his, studying him.

That night they did it all over again. Blaine was still tired from the previous evening but hey, it's New York, it's what Kurt wants to do, people will buy him drinks, okay, let's go out. But two drinks later and Blaine wasn't feeling like having any more. He was sleepy instead of high and it took dancing with Kurt again before he felt like anything he was doing was fun instead of _same_ _same same_. They made out again in the bathroom and Kurt repaid Blaine's blowjob with an infinitely superior one.

_And they're sitting on the fire escape holding hands looking out at fireworks exploding over Berkeley to celebrate the Fourth of July and they look back into the apartment at the cats chasing each other wildly around and over the couch and they laugh and look at each other like they're the only thing that matters while they sip sangria and talk about Finn's latest girlfriend—_

Blaine woke up again with a start at nine o'clock. The same dream, slight variations, but the same situation, the same feelings. He smiled into himself and thought about waking Kurt up to tell him about his dream but got distracted by Kurt's face and ended up falling asleep again.

They went out again the next four nights in a row until it was Blaine's last night in the city before he had to go back to Berkeley. Every night he was more and more sick of going out and drinking and partying and dancing and _moving_ and he knew Kurt could see it on his face but didn't seem to care enough to pretend he was having a good time. They did it anyway, though, and every night they came home and passed out and Blaine had the dream again, until finally, he mentioned it to Kurt casually while they were in the bathroom of some club giving each other hand jobs, and Kurt grinned at him and said _"That's nice honey but if you wake me up at nine o'clock to tell me about some dream I'm going to have to kill you."_

But Blaine had to at least tell it to him. He woke up. It was his last day. He would fly out of JFK at five that afternoon. He wouldn't see Kurt for at least a month and a half. So he started whispering to Kurt.

"…and it's perfect, Kurt, you and me. And we have an apartment and cats like I said but it's even _more_ than that, we sit on the fire escape drinking wine and just _being_ together and it's the best ever and—and maybe sometimes it's years in the future and we've adopted a kid and I—I love you so much and I want it so much—" he murmurs against Kurt's chest. Then Blaine is quiet for a second, but Kurt's sighing and pushing him off his chest and sitting up in bed and _hey, Kurt was awake?_

"_Blaine_. For fuck's sake," Kurt muttered. "It's fucking nine in the morning, will you just go to sleep?"

"I'm sorry, I just wanted—"

Kurt groaned and put his head in his hands. "And what even were you telling me? A _kid_? Blaine, we're twenty-two, it's not time for kids, it's time for—for going out and having a good time and—"

"Not _every night_, Kurt, god. Don't you get sick of it?"

"_No_," Kurt said back angrily, and then sighed and lay back down. "I'm going back to sleep. Let's talk about this later after we're both a little better rested."

Blaine was quiet for a few seconds, trying to decide if he should do what Kurt said, but he had had _enough_. "I'm sick of just doing what you want to do," he said. "I want to talk about it."

Kurt stared at him, narrowing his eyes. "You want to talk about it? Fine. But I'm not fucking talking about it right now, now go the fuck to sleep. We're sleeping in, and that's _that_."


	4. Nothing Better

**Nothing Better**

Blaine took a steadying breath. He didn't lie back down next to Kurt, but folded his legs up so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, and then he put his elbows on his knees and rested his head face down in his hands. "This isn't working," he groaned.

Kurt propped himself up on his elbows. He watched Blaine carefully for a couple minutes, but Blaine didn't say anything else. Finally, Kurt sighed and said, "You're just now figuring that out?"

Blaine looked up at Kurt through his fingers. "W-What?"

Kurt sat up again and tilted his head back to lean against the wall. He said to the ceiling, "This hasn't been working for a while."

"What?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I said this hasn't been working for a _while_."

"I heard you the first time—but what—what do you mean by that?"

"I mean we don't fit together like we used to," Kurt replied slowly, closing his eyes.

Blaine shook his head. "It's just the distance. Look, we're fighting, definitely, but we're not—what are you—"

"No, Blaine. That's all we do, fight."

"We have sex too," Blaine said softly.

"That's not a relationship. At least not one I want."

Blaine recoiled, as if stung. "You don't want me anymore?"

"That's not what I said," Kurt corrected carefully. "But Blaine—I can't be the only one feeling like this. I've seen you all week, you've barely controlled rolling your eyes every night at the places we go and all you talk about is some idealistic future where nothing is better than wine and _cats_."

"I want a future with you," Blaine said, then repeated, louder, more aggressively: "I want a _future_ with _you_."

Kurt rubbed one hand over his eyes and muttered, "God, I am too tired for this."

"For what? For our _relationship_? We've been together for five years, Kurt… don't tell me you haven't thought about getting married and getting a place together and yeah, having pets, and someday, maybe a—"

"_Don't _say it," Kurt hissed, holding up a hand. "We're too young to be thinking about stuff like that, Blaine. You think any of my roommates talk about kids? About marriage? That's not where we're at in our lives, Blaine. I don't know why you want to force it so much."

"It doesn't have to be _tomorrow_, Kurt, but we graduate next year and then what? Are you just going to keep going out partying every night? You're going to have student loans to pay off and a job to go to every day and yeah, I thought you'd have me to come home to every night, but I'm getting the feeling you don't want that."

"It's not that I don't," Kurt said. "It's that I don't want to think about it. I'm having _fun_, Blaine. For the first time in my life. I'm old enough to get into clubs and I have friends who _love_ me and a real life here and—"

"What life? What do you do besides go out and get drunk? That's not _living_… that's just. Partying."

"I fail to see the difference."

Blaine paused for a second and bit his lip before saying quietly, "I just want you. I want _you_ back. The you I fell in love with. Not this new you who goes out and drinks and swears and doesn't pay attention to fashion or Broadway… what happened to you?"

"I still pay attention to fashion and Broadway," Kurt sniffed. "But I grew up, Blaine. And I'm having a good time. Isn't that what college is supposed to be about? None of my friends have practically a _husband_ holding them down."

Blaine sucked in a breath. "Is that what I feel like to you? Just some ball and chain?"

"Well, sometimes I—"

"I know I've changed too, but not that much. Not as much as you. I know that I've made mistakes. Maybe I should have come to New York—"

"Maybe you should have," Kurt muttered angrily. "I thought you would have."

"Oh, are you really still mad about that? Is that what this is about? I didn't follow you, Kurt Hummel, around like a smitten puppy? I love Berkeley. _Love it_. But whenever you visit—as rarely as that is—you just make fun of it and how quiet it is and—"

"_Please,_" Kurt spat. "Spare me these revisions and gaps in history. Let me help you remember. High school. We talked about New York for a _year_. I was _so excited_ for you to join me and then you just _abandoned_ me. Of course I found some new company here, and I go out with them! Because you're not here. You just _left_ me. It's not _Berkeley_ I don't like, it's that you went there instead of here!"

Blaine slid off the bed and stood, pacing shakily. "This is how you feel. This is _still_ how you feel. After three years. We were doing _fine_ until you started clubbing all the time. I mean, you always did, at college, but now it's _constant_."

"That's not even—I like parties!"

"It's not a party if it happens every night!" Blaine shouted. "_Every_ night, Kurt! You don't have a life! You're just a—an alcoholic has-been, already, at 21. What _happened_ to you? Your ambition? Your motivation? I don't know you anymore."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. He looked at Blaine in shock and finally shook his head, turning away and staring blankly at his hands, bunched up in the sheets. "No. This is done. We're done. I'm not dealing with your bullshit clinginess anymore. Please leave."

Blaine stood for a second, still furious, but then felt all the anger melt out of him. He almost toppled for how weak his knees went. "Are you—are we—"

Kurt didn't say anything.

"Kurt, please, we can work this out, we can talk about it, we can fix it, please don't—"

Kurt spoke slowly, monotone: "You want me to change back into something I haven't been for a while. And you're fixated on these stupid plans of a future where we grow old together and we're not even out of college yet. I can't… it's just too crowded. Okay?"

"But—"

Kurt finally looked at him. There were tears in his eyes when he said, "We need a break."

"Don't you—"

"We're on a break."

"You can't—I swear I'll—"

"_No_," Kurt said forcefully. "No, honey. You've had your chance. We're saying goodbye now."

Blaine felt tears start falling down his face. He felt the sudden need to get away from that room, from the heaviness that had come over it. And Kurt didn't want him anymore. He blindly grabbed for all his things and shoved them into his bag, pulled clothes on and left without looking at Kurt again.


	5. Recycled Air

**Recycled Air**

Blaine checked in and got through security in a daze. If he'd had the presence of mind, he might have worried the TSA would think he was a terrorist, for how little he responded to anything said to him. As it was, he was numb to everything around him and barely noticed what he was doing until he was sitting at the gate, waiting to board.

_What just happened?_

He pulled his legs up onto the seat and buried his face in his knees, sobs threatening to tear through him. The shock of what had passed in Kurt's apartment was finally starting to hit him. Tears started dripping from his eyes onto his jeans, his nose getting stuffy, his throat closing up—he shoved his jacket sleeve into his mouth to keep noise from getting out.

_Kurt broke up with me._

He wrapped one of his arms around his chest, folding in on himself, trying to get as small as possible. He rocked a little, hunching his shoulders up to cover his ears and block out the sounds of the airport.

_How do I go on?_

Blaine felt a light touch on his right shoulder. He started, but looked up. There was a person sitting next to him, looking at him, but everything was blurry. He felt blindly in his travel bag for tissues, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. When he looked again, he saw it was a woman, five or six years older than him. She had her head tilted to the side and was just watching his face.

"What?" he asked, his voice breaking a little.

"What do you need?" she asked softly. "Can I help?"

Blaine closed his eyes and shook his head. Sobs built up in his throat again but he managed to get out, "I just got dumped," before he couldn't talk clearly anymore.

"Ohh, sweetie," she murmured, and put an arm around him. He flinched a bit but didn't shrug her off. She didn't say anything else, just held him, and the comfort of having a body close to his started to calm him down. Minutes passed, but she sat there with him and stayed quiet.

It was time to board, then. The attendant called boarding zone one and Blaine checked his boarding pass, seeing that was him. He turned to the woman to say thank you and goodbye, but she was looking at her boarding pass too. He sneaked a look and saw they were in the same zone, and then—

"Oh, we're next to each other," he said, and somehow his voice worked.

She looked up at him, then down at the pass in his hands. She smiled. "Sure enough. Come on, let's go get our seats."

Five minutes later, and they were settling into seats next to each other. The woman dug into her purse. She pulled out and handed to Blaine, in order: an unopened pack of tissues, a bar of chocolate, and an unopened bottle of water. He held them in surprise, looking at them as if they were alien objects.

She saw his face and laughed. "I'm sorry, I'm incredibly over-prepared on trips. I mean, I have two more of all those things in here, so please, take them if you want. I've sobbed my eyes out enough to know you get dehydrated, chocolate helps, and sometimes the tears come back when you don't expect it."

"Why are you being so nice?" Blaine asked, his voice small.

She looked down at the purse and busied herself organizing it. "You looked like you were about to have a panic attack out at the gate. I couldn't just watch it happen."

He looked out the window and took a deep breath, pulling air in until his lungs were full. He meant to let it slowly, but the color of a hat one of the ground crew was wearing reminded him of this sweater Kurt owned, and he choked and started coughing, his eyes filling again with tears.

"Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to talk about something else? Or do you want to not talk?" the woman asked, seeing his face.

He shook his head. "He's so… I keep seeing reminders of him everywhere." If she was surprised at his use of the masculine pronoun, she didn't indicate it. Blaine relaxed a little, but tears still dripped down his cheeks and fell, unchecked, onto his shirt. "We've been together for five years. We broke up once our senior year of high school when we thought the distance would be too hard but we got back together, like, the next day." Blaine paused, reflecting. "I thought we could make it through. Just one more year of college and then…"

She waited half a minute. He didn't say anything.

"And then you'd move in together?" she prompted.

"Yeah," he breathed, shooting a glance at her. Her face was impassive. She was just listening. Not judging. Not planning. Just listening. It was what he needed. He needed to talk about Kurt, or he _would_ have a panic attack on the plane.

"He changed. And I did. In college. He was so… not reserved, never reserved, but… he didn't…" Blaine blushed and looked away. "He didn't know how hot he was."

"But you showed him?" she asked, and he could hear that she was grinning without even looking at her.

He laughed a little, but it turned into another quiet sob. He took a drink of the water she had given him and breathed in and out slowly, calming down.

"I wonder sometimes if I… showed him too well. He's amazing now. I mean, he was always amazing. But we went to clubs and he _owned_ it. I'm surprised he wasn't cheating on me," Blaine admitted, not realizing he felt that way until he said it out loud. He shook his head fiercely though, and went on, "But he wasn't. Not Kurt. He's too honest for that. Too honest. Still, I… it was hard to be here this week and see him go out all the time, other guys looking at him, then looking at me and like…"

"Hey now, you got him five years ago. You earned him, honey."

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't have him anymore. We had a bad fight this morning and he told me to leave and he didn't actually say 'I'm breaking up with you' but well it couldn't have been much clearer and just I've had him for five years and I thought we were going to get married and have kids and grow old together and like I'm just sitting here reevaluating the entire purpose of my life right now and just I—" He was crying again, gasping for air in-between every choked sob. He took one of the tissues out of the pack she had given him and wiped his whole face with it, then held it against his mouth, trying to stop himself from shouting out loud.

"Shh," she said, and put her arm around him again, pulling his head against her to properly hold him.

Blaine burrowed into himself, his memories piercing him like hot irons as he couldn't help but think of Kurt at his best, his favorite moments with Kurt. Early moments, like stealing chaste kisses in the hallways of Dalton… then post-prom, their first handjobs in Blaine's car… and the first time Kurt let Blaine go down on him, the taste of Kurt, and the _sounds_ he made. Blaine furrowed his brow, remembering what it was like, those first months together, exploring each other in every way, Blaine patiently but softly encouraging Kurt and working him along until that first time they felt _right_ and comfortable enough to shakily take off each other's clothes and lie wrapped around one another, teenage lovers between the sheets.

As the plane took off and the ground slipped away beneath him, it was only these thoughts and the gentle hold of this woman whose name he didn't even know that kept him from breaking apart completely.

_Will I ever see him again?_ Blaine gasped and shuddered with renewed tears at the thought, but he focused his eyes on the grid of the city, and then the patchwork of farms below and rivers twining around each other, and finally the clouds, a landscape of white that looked soft enough to sleep on—and he was able to hold it together. For now.


	6. Clark Gable

**Clark Gable**

_Two Weeks Later._

It was dark in his apartment except for the flickering of the TV. Blaine shifted slightly in his chair and winced a little at how tense his neck felt. He rubbed circles into the left side of it and rolled his shoulder, trying to get comfortable again, as much as possible. He didn't take his eyes off the TV as he reached down to the floor to pick up one of the bags of saltine crackers.

It was a Clark Gable movie. Blaine had been through most of Clark's repertoire once and was starting over again, looking for clues. He scratched the side of his head and was reminded he hadn't taken a shower in days, his hair greasy and unkempt, the usually-tamed curls freed but misshapen and gross across his head. Blaine thought, fleetingly, Clark wouldn't let himself get to this state. He should take a shower.

Instead, Blaine shoved a handful of saltines into his mouth. He watched while Clark grabbed a girl and pulled her to him, talking quiet and harsh into her face before bringing her up and kissing her, hard. Blaine watched, trying to figure it out. How did Clark do it? How did he always get the girl? Except when he didn't want her, Blaine thought, remembering Scarlett O'Hara.

A fresh wave of tears bubbled over as Blaine considered Scarlett and Rhett. _You__don__'__t__get__second__chances_, he wanted to tell Scarlett. To tell Kurt. Blaine ran his thumb over the edge of his phone, ever-present in his hand on vibrate in case Kurt called or texted.

Blaine sighed and turned the volume down on the TV. His head was pounding. It had ached constantly since he had landed in Berkeley two weeks before. The flight itself was a dull blank spot in his memory. He remembered, vaguely, the woman who took care of him until they transferred to different flights at Chicago and he was alone again, but he hadn't gotten her name or her face etched into his brain. It was too filled with Kurt. The shape of Kurt's lips, the angle of his jaw, the color of his hair, the texture of his skin, the sound of his voice: these were the things Blaine's brain memorized and focused on. He couldn't forget them, couldn't forget Kurt, even for a second.

"How do I get him back, Clark?" Blaine whispered to the TV.

Clark Gable always got the girl in the movie. Maybe Blaine could… could write a play. Or a musical. And get famous. And then Kurt could star in the musical, and then they could meet on the Broadway stage one night after rehearsal and Blaine could be giving Kurt notes on how to act in a scene and then Kurt would look at him and _realize_ they were meant to be together and Blaine could take him close and kiss him in a style Clark Gable would have admired.

Or maybe at Christmas they'll meet at Rachel's house along with the rest of their friends and Blaine could win Kurt back singing Christmas songs at the piano, but he'd have to bribe Rachel not to jump in and duet with him because he knew how Kurt didn't like that.

Or he could fly back to New York, and—and go up to Kurt's apartment and bang on the door and demand Kurt talk to him, that they sort this out, because damnit, he's Blaine and he's Kurt and they're _supposed__to__be__together_.

But instead Blaine ate another saltine cracker and his eyes flickered down to his phone briefly, to make sure he hadn't missed a call from Kurt.

Nothing.

Blaine pulled his legs closer to his stomach and brought the blankets in around him until he was huddled in a cocoon of warmth, the black and white of the TV the only light in his apartment. He thought it felt like a burrow, like he was underground in a hole, mid-hibernation, and maybe he could just stay like this forever. Endless hibernation. There would be no springtime for Blaine. It was dark and quiet in his hole and perhaps he should stay forever, locked away from people. He needn't bother anyone. There was no one to bother, with Kurt gone.

Blaine wiped his eyes with his sleeve and turned the volume up until he could just barely hear it. He would sleep, now, with the sound of Clark Gable in his head. Maybe Blaine could learn how to cut his Scarlett O'Hara out of his life, if Clark would just show him how.

Blaine's eyes closed, tears getting shut in.

And then there was a knock at the door.


	7. We Will Become Silhouettes

**We Will Become Silhouettes**

Blaine opened his eyes and glanced at his door. His heart started beating wildly as he wondered if Kurt had come to beg forgiveness and kiss him hard and breathless like in the movies. Blaine looked down at himself and how gross he was and grimaced, but it couldn't be helped. He shoved the crackers off his lap and half-crawled, half-fell off the chair and out of his cocoon of blankets, then shook his legs one at a time to get the blood back in them, staggering toward the door. He didn't stop to look out the peep hole, so sure it was Kurt, and in one fluid motion he unlocked the deadbolt and tore the door open and—

It was Mike Chang.

Blaine deflated. One hand on the open door, the other on the doorjamb, he leaned into the frame and his head dropped.

Mike shuffled forward half a step and reached a hand out tentatively. "Blaine, dude? Are you all right?"

Blaine nodded and stepped back. Then he looked and caught Mike's eyes, all shining and concerned, and Blaine couldn't stop himself from shaking his head before the tears started up again. Not wanting Mike to see him like that, Blaine ducked his head again and turned. He went into the bathroom and wiped his eyes with a towel before running the water and splashing his face. He looked up at himself in the mirror but couldn't bring himself to care how disgusting he was. What did it matter? Who was he trying to impress? Mike had seen him gross before, back when they lived together their freshmen year. Maybe not this bad, but bad enough so Blaine wasn't too embarrassed now.

He left the bathroom and put a hand up to cover his eyes reflexively. Mike had come into the apartment and closed the door behind him. He was opening the shades of every window and light was pouring in.

"Mike," Blaine groaned. "That's _bright_."

"Dude, this apartment is a wreck." Mike glanced at him. "And so are you. What's the matter with you, man?"

Blaine stared at Mike. "You haven't heard? Kurt—"

"Yes, obviously I heard Kurt broke up with you, but what the _hell_, Blaine? You can't just fall to pieces like this. It's pathetic."

"I'm allowed to be pathetic," Blaine sniffed.

"Have you even been going to work, dude? I saw on Facebook you got that job…"

"I've been calling in sick," Blaine admitted.

"That's _beyond_ pathetic. You need to snap out of this, Blaine!" Mike looked over at the bookcase and grimaced at the multitude of framed pictures of Kurt. "You're torturing yourself. Come out with me."

"I'm not coming out," Blaine said stubbornly.

"This isn't healthy."

Blaine sat down and pulled the blanket back around him. "I don't know what to do without him. He was… _everything_. How do I… I can't... I don't know what to do," Blaine repeated slowly.

Mike sighed and sat down on the coffee table in front of Blaine. "Look. Getting dumped sucks. And I admit what you and Kurt had was bigger than anything I've ever had. But when Tina and I decided to take a break our freshmen year, did you see me wallowing in a pity party all the time?"

Blaine shook his head. "That was different, that was mutual—you both decided to—"

"That doesn't mean it didn't _hurt_, Blaine. Tina and I were together for two and a half years. She helped make me who I am today. Yeah, we're still friends, but our breakup was _hard_."

"Not this hard," Blaine muttered, digging the heels of his hands into his brow, trying to stop his headache.

"No, probably not." Mike paused and sat back a little on the table. Blaine glanced up, one eye still covered by his hands, and saw Mike was thinking.

"What?"

"I don't know how to say this to you without being an asshole."

"Say what?"

Mike sighed and put a hand out, patting Blaine's knee. "I think this might be good for you."

Blaine recoiled and shook his head vehemently. "This is in no way _good_, Mike, Kurt meant _everything_ to me and I—"

"Yeah, dude. Exactly. Do you even know how to be you without him?"

Blaine blinked, not understanding.

Mike saw his confusion and explained carefully, "I think you've been defining yourself as 'Kurt's boyfriend' for five years, and now that you're not anymore, you don't know who you are. And that, my friend, is a problem."

Blaine pulled his hands away from his face slowly and looked up.

Mike smiled encouragingly. "Come on, Blaine. You have a lot going for you. You're a good student, you're a great singer, you're an awesome friend when you aren't wallowing… you're pretty okay at football… and when your apartment doesn't look like a bomb went off in it, it's nice."

"Is it that bad?" Blaine asked, looking around. It _was_pretty bad. Empty Chinese food boxes everywhere, clothes all over the floor, dishes piled up in the sink, his suitcases still sitting in the corner where he'd left them when he first came home two weeks earlier, DVD cases strewn across the table and the top of the TV, a multitude of empty bags that once held saltines—the only junk food he could find in his apartment—and not to mention the thin layer of grime Blaine suddenly noticed very strongly sitting on his own skin. He felt disgusting. "It's pretty bad."

Mike laughed. "Look. Go take a shower. I'll start cleaning up. Then we're going out."

Blaine opened his mouth to protest but Mike crossed his arms, frowned imposingly down at Blaine (his height advantage becoming more evident the sterner he became), and shook his head.

"No, Blaine. Go take a shower."

"But—"

"I will force you in and scrub you myself if I have to," Mike said. "Seeing you naked doesn't weird me out since freshmen year, man. _Don__'__t__test__me._"

Blaine shrugged. He would feel better after a shower, probably.

He was shaving after getting dressed when he heard the Beastie Boys playing in the other room. Blaine chuckled and swiped the razor carefully across the curve of his chin. Mike considered the Beastie Boys perfect cleaning music. Blaine finished shaving, wiped his face off, patted on after shave, and combed his hair back, then walked out into the living room.

"_Intergalactic__planetary,__planetary__intergalactic!__"_ Mike chanted as he danced around Blaine's apartment, picking up empty wrappers and napkins and other trash and throwing them each in a perfect arc to a trash can that had been moved to the middle of the living room.

Blaine chuckled and picked up an empty Nestea bottle, tossing it into his recycling. He watched as Mike did the robot around the corner of his sofa and then straighten the cushions.

"I forgot how good you are at dancing," Blaine said.

"Thanks, man," Mike said. "It's been awhile since you came out to one of the exhibitions."

"I was in London," Blaine said, tilting his head and scratching the back of his neck.

Mike just smiled softly. "When was the last time you went out in Berkeley?"

Blaine raised his eyes to the ceiling while he contemplated. It _had_ been awhile. "Uh, I think it was… uh…"

Mike laughed. "Yeah, exactly." He gestured around the apartment. "What do you think? Looks better already, yeah?"

Blaine nodded. The sun streaming in, things thrown away, other things tidied up and put where they should be… it looked like a normal person lived there again, not the crazy recluse Blaine had turned into.

"Cool," said Mike, folding up the blanket and setting it on the back of Blaine's chair. He plucked his iPod out of the dock on Blaine's sound system. "Now put your shoes on, we're gonna go have a good time."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm guessing you're not hungry," Mike said, grinning, and Blaine nodded sheepishly. "Chloe's doing an open mic thing tonight at Jupiter. We can get a couple beers and hang out with everyone."

"Oh, everyone's going?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me—"

"If you'd been checking your phone for anything but Kurt's name, you might've seen the two missed calls and text messages from me, but that's okay, man. Come on, let's get out of here."

Blaine looked at his phone and thumbed through missed calls. There were several, not just from Mike but from Blaine's mom and a few of his Berkeley friends. Even Tina had called, and they hadn't been close since high school. Blaine felt a wave of guilt. How much had he been ignoring everyone who wasn't Kurt? He started understanding what Mike meant: he'd been sixteen when he and Kurt had started dating, and now he was twenty-one, an adult, but had never learned how to be an adult on his own.

He realized Mike was watching him. Blaine glanced up. He wanted to tell Mike how much it meant to him, that his friend was pulling him out of the hole he'd dug for himself. He wanted to tell Mike that maybe it wasn't just Kurt missing that had destroyed him but that he suddenly had no idea how to be. He wanted to say so many things. But instead: "Thanks, Mike."

"Sure thing, dude."

Later, they ended up celebrating Mike's girlfriend Chloe's successful foray into open mic by getting stupendously drunk and doing karaoke. Blaine had a moment, drunk but so, so happy, where he was looking around at Mike and Chloe and Johnny and Pierce and Nick and Theo and Leslie and Sara and Eric and Carlo and just thinking how lucky he was to have a group of friends who would take him back in and be silly-drunk with him. On his way up to the microphone to belt out a Backstreet Boys song, he grabbed Mike and shouted in his ear, "Thanks, man! I needed this!" and when they were all stumbling home after bar time, clinging to each other and screaming at the top of their lungs "It's Complicated" by Avril Lavigne, Blaine had twenty whole minutes where he didn't once think about Kurt.

Three weeks after that and Blaine felt good. He had broken down crying in bathrooms more times than he could count on both hands, but it didn't turn him into a spiraling catastrophe. He would pull himself together and go out into the world, go to work, sometimes go to the bar with Mike and their friends, come home, brush his teeth, watch some TV, and fall asleep. When it was nice out and everyone felt like it, they met at a field on campus and played football.

It was a beautiful Thursday night, the sun setting through the trees in the west, the air chilly but not too cold, and Blaine had just made a touchdown. He laughed and laughed and, giddy, collapsed in the grass. He heard Mike cheering at him, saw Theo grabbing Eric in a headlock, and watched Sara on the sidelines clapping for Pierce. Blaine giggled and craned his neck to look towards the sunset.

The guys were assembling in that direction for the next huddle, and Blaine thought the way they looked, dark figures shoving and grabbing at each other against the backdrop of the orange and yellow sky—they were silhouettes of a perfect summer. Blaine couldn't believe what he'd been missing. He felt happy. He felt almost-whole. The gap in his heart left by Kurt was still there, but there were other things keeping his mind off it, and he thought maybe in time it would heal over.

"Blaine, come on, let's kick their ass!" Mike yelled at him, and Blaine rolled over and pushed himself up off the grass, grinning and jogging over to meet his friends, feeling something constant under his feet.


	8. This Place Is A Prison

**This Place is a Prison**

It was Kurt's birthday. He was on his fifth rum and coke in an hour and wasn't turning back any time soon. At the moment, he was sitting at the bar of Morpheus, studiously ignoring the cat calls of his friends from the dance floor. It was only midnight, but he felt off.

They'd had cake earlier, and Claude had blown up a few balloons shaped like penises. Kurt had gotten a call from his dad and Carole and they'd sung the birthday song to him over the phone. He had spent a few minutes on Facebook reading the posts on his wall wishing him a happy birthday and then.

Then he had gotten to the "Happy birthday, man!" from Mike Chang and narrowed his eyes to scrutinize the tiny thumbnail of Mike's picture wondering, _Is__that__…__?_, and then going to Mike's profile and realizing, _Yes,__it__is_.

Mike's profile picture was him and a few other guys, sweaty and laughing and hanging on to each other, the green of Berkeley all around them in the background and the sun coming down making all of them look like a picture out of a JC Penney catalog. And one of those guys was Blaine.

He looked so happy. Kurt had sucked in a breath involuntarily. It wasn't as if he had expected Blaine to wallow in misery _forever_, but with how clingy and attached Blaine had been at the end, Kurt had wondered guiltily if he'd be okay after the breakup. Clearly he was.

Doing a little more digging (or rather, Facebook stalking) had uncovered the fact that Blaine had been going out with a regular group of people for drinks and coffee and dancing and football playing and everything else a normal active happy college student should be doing over the summer. Kurt had sat back in his chair and considered. The breakup had been bad, but he didn't regret it. Things had gotten fucked up with Blaine. England had been good for him, Kurt knew, but he also knew Blaine had been calling him every day and not taking the opportunity to go traveling and exploring and it had felt claustrophobic, to Kurt. Like Blaine had forgotten that there was a life outside of Kurt-and-Blaine, and he always needed someone else to force him to go out and _do_ something instead of doing it for himself.

It had come to a head that week Blaine had come to visit, right before they'd broken it off. The pretty picture Blaine had painted of their future in Berkeley felt like just another way for Blaine to isolate himself from everything that wasn't Kurt-and-Blaine.

That wasn't the only reason it had turned Kurt off, though. He _wasn__'__t_ ready to think about marriage or kids, although he had thought since he was sixteen that both of them would eventually, someday, be with Blaine. Just not so soon. Not when he was still in college, still going out every night with his friends, getting drunk and dancing and having a good time.

Kurt sighed into his rum and coke. He wasn't having a good time. It was his birthday, and all he could think about was how it was the first one in five years without Blaine by his side. Blaine had always been creative for birthdays, taking Kurt to fantastic places he never would have expected and surprising him with presents and flowers. Birthdays had always, in the past, been reserved Blaine Nights, and he hadn't gone out to the bars with his roommates and their various significant (or not so significant) others. But this year it was his only option.

He was bored. And lonely. And it had been two months since he'd seen or talked to Blaine, all contact severed after that disastrous morning before Blaine had flown home to Berkeley.

Kurt swiveled in his stool and watched his friends grinding on the floor. All four of his roommates were out there, as were the people they were sleeping with. Kurt didn't know most of the names of the boyfriends and girlfriends who passed through his apartment, and it had started to bother him. Who were these people? What were their lives? Did they even know _his_ name? Did they even know it was his birthday? Did they care?

No. No one cared, really. The penis balloons were for a laugh and Kurt had bought the cake himself, grimacing in the checkout line as he realized it was the first store-bought cake he'd _ever_ had for his birthday. And now this? Going out to Morpheus, again, for what was probably the fiftieth time in two months? This wasn't special.

"It's not a party if it happens every night," Kurt said out loud to himself, remembering what Blaine had yelled at him that morning.

Saying it brought back everything else Blaine had said. That Kurt had changed. That Kurt didn't care about the things he used to care about, had different priorities, drank too much, swore too much. Maybe he did. Kurt was starting to lose sight of what he had once imagined was glamour in going out every night like this. He remembered how he used to _really__care_ about things like what Lady Gaga was wearing and who wore which Alexander McQueen piece the best, and now he had mostly stopped. Blaine hadn't gotten it quite right, though: Kurt had stopped caring about fashion, but he had also stopped caring, just, in general. He was still passing his classes, but that was more out of habit than ambition. He didn't know what he wanted to do with his life, and thinking about job hunting terrified him. Thinking about anything concrete having to do with the future terrified him, especially with Blaine gone. Blaine had been the one thing in his life Kurt was always sure about, but now?

_Can__'__t__I__still__be__sure__about__him?_ Kurt asked himself. He'd messed up, blowing up at Blaine like that. But people had fights. People took breaks. And people could get back together, too.

Kurt wondered if Blaine was thinking about him. If Blaine had drafted a hundred text messages that day with different variations on "happy birthday" and canceled every one of them. He wanted to know what Blaine had done that day, and the day before. He wanted to know what Blaine was doing tomorrow, the names of Blaine's friends, how Blaine's job was going, what Blaine's apartment looked like now, what Blaine's class schedule for the fall was.

Kurt downed the last of the rum and coke and wiped a hand across his eyes. _What__am__I_doing? he wondered. He wasn't happy. He hadn't been for a long time.

_I__miss__him_, Kurt thought. _I__miss__Blaine._

Without thinking, Kurt paid his tab and headed out the door onto the street. He walked home, packed a bag, went online and booked a red eye flight to Berkeley, and called a taxi.


	9. Brand New Colony

A/N: One more chapter after this one, then we're done. :) Thanks for reading!

**Brand New Colony**

Blaine looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. It was two months to the day since he'd flown back to Berkeley from New York City. Two months ago he never would have thought he'd be feeling so full of life again. He felt better than he had in over a year, really. He still missed Kurt, an ache inside that never went away, but he was able to do his day-to-day, and he had friends, and his job was nice and people liked him. Classes were starting up again in a month and he was looking forward to it, to his last year of college.

The mirror was starting to fog over. Blaine had started the shower but was taking his time getting in, having a moment celebrating his existence. He drew a smiley face in the mirror, laughed to himself, and then stripped off his boxers and stepped into the water.

He felt good. He had probably thanked Mike more times than was necessary for getting him out of his apartment that day, and Blaine wished he knew the name of the woman on the plane who had helped him from having a full-on panic attack at 10,000 feet so he could thank her too. He had realized, though, that it had taken other people to get him out of his despair, that left to his own devices he would have folded in on himself and never come out of darkness, and that scared him.

Blaine ran his hands through his hair, leaning his head back under the showerhead so the water hit straight at the center of his scalp and streamed over his face in addition to soaking his hair. He didn't hold back the groan at how good it felt. It had been awhile since he'd taken a leisurely shower, when he was in no rush to get to work or meet Mike or any of his other friends. Blaine massaged his fingers into his scalp, not bothering to hold back his quiet moans. He picked up the shampoo bottle and drizzled some onto his head, lathering up his curls. He worked his fingers, rubbing them in little circles all over the crown of his head.

It felt _so_ good.

One of Blaine's hands, seemingly of its own accord, dropped down to his neck. He dug into a knot in his muscle with his thumb, gasping as he slowly worked it out. He leaned back into the water and washed his hair clean of shampoo, then moved both hands down to his neck, then his shoulders. With the water beating down on him and the steam starting to get to his head, Blaine could almost imagine it was someone else's hands on him, and he leaned gently against the shower wall as he slid his hands from his shoulders to his chest, then down his stomach.

His head hit heavily against the tile of the wall as he grasped his cock in one hand. It had been a long, long time since he'd done this, and he was already achingly hard. Blaine stroked long and firm, his hips jerking uncontrollably forward, thrusting his cock through the tight heat of his fist. He groaned louder and put all his weight against the wall behind him, the cool tile pushing against his warm skin and making him tingle.

Blaine stroked faster, trying to bring himself off before the water went cold, but although it felt _amazing_ and how had he gone two months without doing this—it was only the thought of another pair of hands on him that left him breathing hard. He let his mind supply Kurt's body pressed against his back, the hand on his shaft Kurt's, wrapped around him and jerking him off at the rhythm Kurt had established early in their relationship after trial and error, the one that in a matter of seconds brought Blaine all the way to the end of his tether.

He pushed his back hard against the wall, closed his eyes, bit his lip, stroked a few more times and came, the flash of Kurt's bright blue eyes and pale hands in his mind, pulling him through his orgasm.

Blaine panted and leaned down, putting his hands on his knees, getting his breath back. The water trickled over his neck and down his cheeks, dripping from his eyebrow ridge into the tub. His heart was pounding.

_Kurt._

It was hard to fill up in two months the space Kurt had carved out in his heart and his life, but Blaine was trying his hardest to get there. It felt wrong, though, to bury Kurt, when all Blaine wanted to do was uncover the boy he fell in love with and hold him.

Kurt had been right. They had both changed, but Blaine didn't think it was irreconcilably. He still loved Kurt, the Kurt he had been with for five years, the one who made sarcastic jokes at inappropriate moments and cooked him gourmet chicken noodle soup when he was sick. The one who had picked out all his outfits for three months straight their senior year together before pulling back and letting Blaine be Blaine and sometimes dress in slouchy jeans and a T-shirt. The one who called him late at night singing love songs into his voice mail, sometimes drunk but sometimes not, sometimes just love-drunk and giving Blaine something to wake up to in the morning.

Blaine sighed and stood up in the shower. He conditioned his hair, scrubbed the rest of his body, and then rinsed and shut the water off.

He had just pulled his towel off the rack and started drying his hair when he heard a knock at his door. Blaine made a small noise of irritation but wrapped the towel around his hips and went out to his living room. He assumed it was Mike, who had said he might come by today to watch the game, but it was still pretty early for that. Blaine walked to the door and looked out the peephole.

Blaine jerked back from the door immediately, gasping and shaking. He had been greeted by the same bright blue eyes he had just been thinking of—Kurt was out there. Kurt was here. Kurt was waiting. Kurt.

Blaine spun around a few times, water droplets flying off him. He ran a hand through his hair and scowled. Trust Kurt to catch him like this, straight out of the shower.

He looked around frantically for some clue as to what he should do. He should put more clothes on, yes, and then, maybe pretend he's not even home—

"Blaine, I can hear you in there," he heard Kurt say through the door. "I need to talk to you. Please…" Blaine heard the desperate note in Kurt's voice. "Please let me in."

That was something he couldn't ignore. Blaine unlocked his door and opened it immediately for Kurt, standing back to give him room. Kurt walked in without even looking at Blaine, headed straight to the couch, sat down, and put his head in his hands, cradled on his knees.

"Um…" Blaine looked around again for a shirt or pants, but he had been meticulously tidy since Mike had pulled him out of his slump, and everything was either dirty in the hamper or clean folded away in the armoire in his bedroom.

"I messed up," Kurt whimpered from the couch.

Blaine froze, staring at Kurt's huddle form, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"I got too… distracted," Kurt said into his hands. "I forgot what was important. I forgot what made me happy, without any bells or whistles. I forgot how to be the person I'm supposed to be." He looked up then, and Blaine almost crumpled at the flood of tears building in Kurt's eyes.

"Kurt…"

"I forgot how good you were to me and for me and how good we are together. We're perfect together."

Blaine sighed and walked to the couch, sitting on the opposite side of it from Kurt. "We weren't perfect for a while. I turned into a hermit and you… you turned into the opposite."

"I shouldn't have been going out so much," Kurt said.

"I shouldn't have been depending on you to make me happy," Blaine said.

Kurt sniffed. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to do for you? But I couldn't even do that."

"Kurt, no. I mean, yes. I needed more from you. But I was relying on you too much, I see that now. I didn't have a life of my own… I chased after you all the time even when I didn't need to be." Blaine nervously smoothed out the towel wrapped around his lap.

"I love you so much," Kurt said, reaching his hand out to Blaine, who reached back instinctually and held on tight. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He started crying.

Blaine moved down toward Kurt, pulling Kleenex out of the tissue box on the end table and tentatively raising his hand to Kurt's face. Kurt looked into his eyes and Blaine's gut wrenched.

"I love you too," Blaine told him, carefully wiping away the tears falling down Kurt's cheeks. His thumb lingered awhile on Kurt's jaw, rubbing gently. "But you really hurt me. And I know I hurt you too. We can't just… forget it happened. We have to talk about this."

"I know," Kurt said. "I know." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then broke into a grin. "I slept on the plane here."

"I can't believe you're here," Blaine murmured, but Kurt continued:

"I had this dream."

Blaine felt his heart leap into his throat and he leaned back a little.

"It was… it wasn't Berkeley, Blaine. It was a little apartment in Soho, and it was old and needed renovation, but there was a fire escape, and we sat on it and drank wine and talked about… everything. And we watched the sun go down, together. And it felt so right."

Blaine lowered his eyes so Kurt wouldn't see the tears in them.

"I woke up and I _missed_ it. I missed what we had. The only thing that kept me from breaking down on that plane was the thought I was coming to see you."

"And here you are," Blaine mumbled.

"I want that future. I want a future _with__you_. Maybe I don't want to run into it headlong right now, but you were right, Blaine. You're always right. We belong together, forever. I was so scared… scared of too much too fast, scared of growing up, of leaving fun behind. The future is… I don't know what I'll be doing a year from now. I don't even know where I'll be living. I don't know _anything_ about a year from now and I can't even fathom _ten_ years from now but when I do… when I do think about the future, the one thing I'm sure about is you."

Blaine looked up at Kurt and started smiling. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Kurt said softly, putting his hand around Blaine's neck and pulling him closer. "I'm always sure about you."

Blaine started laughing but Kurt cut him off with a kiss, sweet and simple and everything Blaine had been missing.

"You're my missing puzzle piece," Blaine whispered, and Kurt leaned back howling with laughter, slapping Blaine lightly on the chest.

"You are such a dork!" Kurt cried, giggling, happy and perfect, and then Blaine grabbed him by the wrists and pulled him onto his lap, kissing him hard. They stayed like that for a few minutes, wrapped around each other, just kissing.

"Wait," Blaine said, breaking off for a second.

"What?" Kurt asked, brow furrowed, eyes worried.

"Were there cats?"

"What?"

"In your dream—did we have cats?" Blaine asked earnestly.

Kurt started giggling again. "Yes. We had seventeen cats and a cockatoo."

"Cockatoo, huh?" Blaine asked, grinning mischievously. "Cockatoo to you too."

"Dork," Kurt murmured against Blaine's mouth, and then they were together again.


	10. Natural Anthem

**Natural Anthem**

Ten Years Later.

"And then we talked about it," Blaine said musingly from where he was standing behind the kitchen island.

"For days," Kurt replied from the other side of the island, smiling wistfully at the memory.

"Weeks."

"We're still talking about it," Kurt said.

"Well, you wrote a book about it," Blaine pointed out, waving the object at Kurt, gesturing emphatically.

"You haven't finished reading it yet," Kurt reminded him. "You're only on… what is that, that's the end of chapter nine, right?"

"Not even halfway through this," Blaine mumbled. "I can't believe you didn't let me read this while you were writing it. So much factual inaccuracy."

Kurt laughed softly. "Oh really? What's inaccurate?"

"I did not _completely_ break down after I flew back to Berkeley. Mike definitely embellished certain details."

Kurt smiled and walked around the island, putting his hands on Blaine's hips and pulling him a little closer. "I thought he might have. But I didn't want to think you had it any easier than I did after we broke up that summer."

"I notice you didn't put any of your moping and crying in here," Blaine said, placing the book carefully on the island and then wrapping his arms around Kurt's neck.

"Artistic license," Kurt replied, putting his lips against Blaine's cheek and pressing little kisses down the side of his jaw.

Blaine hummed and then gasped sharply when Kurt abruptly undid his belt and got the button and zip open on Blaine's pants in record time.

"Kurt," Blaine hissed. "What are you _doing_—"

"Remember all those times in the bars late at night?" Kurt asked, slipping his hand into Blaine's boxers and beginning to stroke him to hardness.

"Wuh—I—yes?"

"I always loved doing that," Kurt murmured confidentially, kissing up against Blaine's neck and behind his ear.

"Fu—_Kurt__—_but we still do that," Blaine said, moaning quietly.

"I still love doing it," Kurt said, and put his free arm around Blaine's middle, holding him up when his knees went weak and he leaned against the kitchen island. Kurt's fingers were magic and Blaine found himself unable to do much more than make small whimpering sounds and bite into Kurt's collarbone through his shirt. He trembled with the effort of holding himself up, every twist and pull of Kurt's hand bringing him dangerously close to the edge.

Blaine slid one of his hands down to cup Kurt through his trousers and grinned at how hard he was. He pulled his hand away and then tilted his hip until his right leg was thrust between Kurt's, letting Kurt rut against him, getting the friction he needed.

"Ohhh my god," Kurt groaned, increasing the speed of his hand on Blaine's cock and swiping his thumb over the tip, smearing Blaine's pre-come and making things slicker and easier. He thrust helplessly and without rhythm against Blaine's thigh and didn't realize how close he was until he was coming, coming with a strangled cry as Blaine froze for a half-second and then thrust up into Kurt's hand and came too.

"Fuck," Blaine whispered against Kurt's shoulder as they cooled down together, holding each other up against the island. "Quick, do my pants back up, I can't seem to move my fingers."

"You think I'm any better?" Kurt grumbled, but he was grinning as he managed to tuck Blaine into his underwear and re-zip and -button him. "You can do the belt yourself," he said, turning to the kitchen sink and washing his hands.

"I'm going to have to change before we go out," he said over his shoulder to Blaine, who nodded absently in return.

"You think she's awake yet?" Blaine asked, tilting his head to listen.

Kurt turned the water off and they stood quietly, in perfect synch, listening to any sounds coming from their daughter's bedroom.

"Nothing," Kurt murmured. "I bet she'll be out for another hour, you know she ran herself ragged at the park this morning."

"And yet she wants to go again this afternoon," Blaine said, smiling affectionately.

"Wonder who she gets _that_ from," Kurt teased.

"You can't mean _me_, Mr. Dance-Every-Night-Until-I-Can't-Stand-Up-Anymore," Blaine said with mock outrage.

"Oh, _please_, Mr. I'd-Play-Football-All-Day-Every-Day-If-Mike-Chang-Were-Willing-And-Able, don't give me that," Kurt countered, smirking.

Blaine giggled and kissed Kurt's cheek. "Did you say one hour?" he asked.

"Maybe. If we're lucky," Kurt replied breathlessly.

"I know something we can do in one hour," Blaine said, raising his eyebrow.

"Oh? What's that, Mr. Anderson-Hummel?"

Blaine grinned and pulled Kurt to the sofa with him. "Take a nap, Mr. Anderson-Hummel."

Kurt laughed and fell against him. They molded into one another and in a few seconds were both of them near sleep, until Kurt heard Blaine say softly, "Those two months were the hardest of my life."

"Mine too," Kurt murmured back.

"And maybe it was as bad as Mike said," Blaine admitted.

"Hey," Kurt said, leaning up a little on Blaine's chest and looking down at him. "I'm never letting you hurt like that again. _Ever_."

"And I'm never letting _you_ hurt like _you_ did again. Even if you didn't write about it," Blaine said, winking.

"Oh, you," Kurt giggled. "Factual inaccuracies_.__Please_. At least I spelled your name right."


End file.
